IT IS a glorious sunny day. We are zipping along through Phang Nga, bound for a holiday destination closer to Phuket.

The car rounds a bend. Suddenly, the mood changes. We see an ambulance parked in the middle of the road.

There is a collective feeling of apprehension.

We draw closer. A motorcycle sits askew in the road, near the ambulance. Another lies off the road.

Three of us hang back. I walk in for a closer look. As I pass the motorcycle, a young woman is trying to start it.

Beyond her, by the ambulance, a figure lies on the ground. It is a woman.

Paramedics have bound one of her legs. It is probably broken. The toes still bleed.

She moves in pain as they place a stretcher under her and adjust plastic blocks to stop her head moving.

On the road is a yellow helmet and, further away, a single flip-flop.

A man in a black jacket stands close, looking at the scene. The left side of his face is covered in fresh blood.

He stares the thousand yard stare of someone in shock.

Within two minutes, the woman on the stretcher and the man with the bleeding face are in the ambulance.

It is probably five minutes' drive to Takuapa Hospital. They both seem likely to survive, two more victims of motorcycle madness.

How could two vehicles collide on a broad highway in bright sunshine?

Today both riders are probably patients in Takuapa. Tomorrow they will be two more unnecessary road incident statistics.

We drive on.